I thank him, tell him how much it’ll mean to my kids, but I think he’s already rung off. I grab the ticket, head back to the car and get it open quickly with no alarm going off. The wires spark and the engine comes to life. I ease out of the space and down the ramps to the ground floor. The ticket slides into the machine. Bonus, nothing to pay as I’ve been here less than an hour. I make myself promise I’ll return the car before they’re back. A yellow smiley face dangles from the rear-view, the scent it’s releasing already giving me a headache. I rip it off and toss it out the window.

Soon I hit the A9, heading north, destination Bergen. The desire to put my foot down, to get there as soon as I can, is strong, but I rein myself in, driving conservatively. I stay within the limit, I indicate when changing lanes, I keep a safe distance at all times. I do everything possible to avoid being noticed.

Just before Alkmaar I pull off the motorway and stop at a light and a police car pulls up beside me. My heart detonates in my chest. There are two of them, uniforms, and the driver has dark glasses despite it not being that bright. He turns to look at me and for a moment I can see myself reflected in his lenses, my face distorted by their curvature. For a split second I glimpse a wolf. Then my face is back. I imagined it. Must have. The stress.

The light turns green and they pull away, unaware that the Netherlands’ most wanted man was, for a few short seconds, in the car next to them. Now I’m on the N9, a smaller road, and the landscape opens up around me, flat fields on either side and the Kanaaldijk’s waters snake along beside the tarmac. There’s less traffic, just the odd lorry hauling goods, and I overtake a tractor with a baler attachment at the back. I pass a field with black and white cows, their long bodies resting on the ground. As darkness deepens I see the odd house dotted along the road with lit windows, the outline of rough agricultural buildings. I turn off again, a swollen misshapen moon swinging into view, casting its light over the tips of the trees ahead. The forest is dark and impenetrable.